Rogues and Wild Fire: A Speculative Romance Anthology

By Debbie Burns and Ynes Malakova

Featuring stories by Nyri Bakkalian, Charleigh Brennan, Celosia Crane, K. A. Fox, Patrisha Harrigan, Ynes Malakova, Dorothy Tinker, and Sarah Windsor. Introduction by Debbie Burns. Cover Art by Kali A Moulton.

“I have lived alone for so long, but now that I have found you, I no longer wish for that cold existence.”

A woun

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balance of Seven
• Release date: Jul 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781947012950

Debbie Burns

Debbie Burns is a critically acclaimed author of women’s fiction and romance novels who has received, in addition to starred reviews and top picks, first-place awards for her short stories, flash fiction, and more. Her hobbies include hiking, gardening, and daydreaming, which, of course, always leads to new story ideas. She lives with her family, two phenomenal rescue dogs, and a somewhat tetchy Maine coon cat in St. Louis. For more information, visit AuthorDebbieBurns.com.

Book preview

1.png

CREATIVE CENTRAL PRESENTS

A SPECULATIVE ROMANCE ANTHOLOGY

Balance of Seven

Copyright

Rogues and Wild Fire

A Speculative Romance Anthology

Copyright © 2018 by Balance of Seven

All rights reserved. Printed in the United States.

All stories are copyrighted to their respective authors and used here with their permission.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information, contact:

Balance of Seven

www.balanceofseven.com

Publisher: [e-mail]

Managing Editor: [e-mail]

Cover Design: Kali A Moulton

www.instagram.com/simply_kali

Copyediting and Formatting: D Tinker Editing

www.balanceofseven.com/d-tinker-editing

Japanese Language Consultant: Dr. Nyri Bakkalian

ISBN: 978-1-947012-95-0

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018944516

24 23 22 21 20 19 18 1 2 3 4 5

Dedication

To those who hear stories in their hearts

and wish only to share them.

Your stories chose you for a reason.

You both are worthy.

Letter from

Debbie Burns

Dearest Adventurer (a.k.a. Awesome Reader),

Hello and welcome! I think I can speak for both Balance of Seven (the publisher) and myself when I say WE ARE SO HAPPY YOU ARE HERE!

I’m Deb, founder of Creative Central—a space for lady fiction writers who want community and belonging, not just another writing group. We’re all about keeping it positive and supportive as we help each other and ourselves fulfill our Soul Songs to write books and get them into the hands of readers who will love them!

Thank you for being one of those readers and for helping these authors reach another milestone on the journey toward their big dreams. You are who we write for. You are who we dream of. You are the one we hope our words will captivate, entrance, and inspire. So, thank you, thank you, thank you for saying yes to this anthology!

Rogues and Wild Fire actually started as a simple exercise in storytelling. We’d just finished the Character Deep Dive, a workshop series designed to help the members of Creative Central to write characters readers remember. Our topic on the final day was Impact on Others.

What impact, or influence, does this character have on others? Do they cause other people to feel awkward, ashamed, bigger, or smaller? When they enter a room do people want to leave, stay, make fun of them, or join their party?

And that’s when I brought up Strider (a.k.a. Aragorn) from Lord of the Rings (the film). His presence is felt from the moment he enters the screen. We know he is impressive, feared, respected, loved, hated based on how others react to him throughout the trilogy.

We love him because the characters love him.

And it’s not Viggo Mortensen we love, it’s Aragorn. That’s when the words dropped from my mouth . . .

He makes dirt look good!

Oh. My. Gosh! The whole group lost it! And from that one comment (and agreement from the ladies) came the idea for a quick and dirty (pun intended) challenge we called the Dirty Ranger Romance.

Could we all write a romance short story in one month with a dirty ranger as the focal point?

And that, my friends, is how Rogues and Wild Fire was born. From a little bit of dirt and a whole lot of impact!

Thank you again for supporting our authors and helping their Big Dreams come true! We couldn’t do it without you.

Loves & hugs,

Debbie Burns

Head Unicorn at www.DebbieBurns.me

Founder, Creative Central + Fiction Expedition

The Ranger and

the Greenwitch

Celosia Crane

My eyes didn’t want to open. My head was fuzzy. Putting thoughts together shouldn’t have been that hard.

Then the smell hit me. Cold and damp, it smelled of mildew, with a faint whiff of death.

I blinked hard. My vision cleared. The room was dark, with only a patch of light on the floor from a small barred window in the door. My shoulders ached. My wrists were screaming.

I remembered.

I was in Piatra, and I was a prisoner.

A scream built up inside my chest, but a gag prevented it from escaping. My heart thundered in my chest as I struggled against the ropes.

How many days had it been since the attack on Tala? Two? Or was it three? I couldn’t be sure. They had drugged me with something on a cloth, forcing me to breathe it in until I fell unconscious. When I had awakened, the rocking of a cart was all I had known, until one wheel struck a rock, throwing me against the pile of plunder. I had screamed against the gag as, cursing, the driver had stopped the cart. My vision had cleared for a second, and I had stared into narrowed angry eyes. Then the cloth had been slapped across my face and the smell, wet and unpleasant, had cut through my senses. I had fought as much as I could, twisting my head away, but they had kept the cloth tightly over my face, and I had known no more.

Wiggling, I managed to sit up. Resting my head against the cold stones, I closed my eyes as tears pricked at my eyelids.

The attack had happened so quickly. Willem had fallen guarding the main gate, pierced through with four arrows. The soldiers had torn out of the trees, their faces savagely streaked with black, twisted in hatred.

Then he had arrived—dressed in all black, his face a black mask, and his helmet covered with a black fur pelt. His eyes had burned with a fire I felt down to my very core.

And I had known then that they had come for me alone.

I had shuddered at his touch. I had known in that instant the hatred that burned deep inside of that man. It was like a fever, infecting his entire being. And he had come to claim me.

Diavol, the Witch Hunter of Piatra.

Heavy booted footsteps coming down the corridor brought my attention back to my surroundings. The first thing I saw through the small window set within the door was the light of a smoking torch, and then I heard the sound of metal jingling, like someone lifting a ring of keys. The scrape of metal turning in the lock followed.

The door opened slowly. I could feel my lungs burning in my chest as I struggled to breathe around the gag. Behind my back, my hands trembled in their bonds as a man stepped through the door, stopping two feet from where I sat on a bench. I knew it was him, even without the pitch. A dark-brown beard covered his chin, and his brown eyes glittered in the torchlight.

Sorin, release her bonds. We will need her to be able to walk. In this tight space, even without physically touching him, I could feel the hatred. It poured off him in waves. Its darkness spread throughout the tiny cell, rippling like eddies at the river’s edge.

Sorin stepped forward, blade outstretched. My gaze fixed on the blade, and I fought back another scream. He grabbed me by the shoulder and threw me down against the bench. The knife tore through the rope that bound my hands before he grabbed my ankles and did the same.

Pins and needles shot through my hands and feet as Sorin stepped back, sheathing his blade. I tore the gag from my mouth, addressing the leader.

Why have you taken me? What have I ever done to deserve Diavol’s hatred? The words sounded thick and garbled in my ears. With impatient hands, I shoved my curly rust-colored hair back from my face.

You exist. You and your kind. He turned his head, his lip curled in disgust. "Magi! You infect the world like a plague. And like a plague, you must be cleansed. His eyes almost glowed in the dim light as he glowered at me. Through fire, you must be made pure once more. That is the only way to scorch the evil from your blood." He turned and began walking toward the door.

Glancing backward over his shoulder, he sneered. I wouldn’t get too comfortable. You won’t be staying here long. His laugh echoed off the stone walls. My stomach lurched and contracted tightly at the sound.

The pyre is already set. We but wait for the full moon to rise. Walking out the door, Diavol sent one final remark back over his shoulder. I have work to do among my people. But do not fear; I shall be back for you. His laugh started to trail away as he moved down the hall. Tonight you shall burn.

Malice dripped from the words as he walked away. It danced along my spine, making my body shudder. I heard the scraping of the key as it turned in the lock, imprisoning me once again.

They had left me the torch. Its smoke carried with it the distinct scent of sulfur, clogging my nose with the smell of bad eggs. Sitting on the bench, I pulled my boots off and massaged my ankles. My wrists bore red welts and blisters from my struggles against the ropes. Beyond that I was unhurt.

I stood slowly, uncertain if my legs would hold me. The smell of the torch took me right back to the scent of burning thatch and the screams of my people. It shuddered through me. I sank down against the wall, my shoulders shaking as sobs tore through me. My chest hurt and my ribs burned as I wept for the innocent dead.

When the tears had passed, I brushed my hair out of my face once more. The light from the torch lit it as it brushed in front of my gaze, illuminating the rich reds and coppers. I pushed myself up to a standing position again, feeling the numbness in my hands and feet.

I slapped my thighs. My hands felt bloated and nerveless. As I did, the palm of my left hand brushed my medicine bag, which hung from my belt. Grasping at my hip, behind the medicine bag, I felt for my sheath. I wrapped my palm around the pommel and drew my belt knife.

The torch light glinted off the blade as my fingers gripped the hilt. I smiled for the first time. They didn’t check to see if I was armed.

Diavol’s words returned, ringing in my mind. I clutched the knife in my hand. At least I can take one of them with me. Icy hands gripped my stomach now as I fought the terror rising inside me. My stomach jerked, and I swallowed hard against the bile. I refused to defile myself in that manner.

Footsteps approached rapidly. The sound and cadence indicated a flight of stone steps.

I froze.

Who are you? the guard outside my cell demanded.

There was no answer, except for a sickening thunk and a slight moan. Then came the harsh jangle of metal keys. Metal scraped against the lock again as a key was tried.

Forcing myself to my feet, I clutched my knife tightly. Whoever was coming through that door, I would defend myself from them to the best of my ability. I wouldn’t let myself be taken lightly.

My hand shook as whoever was out there cursed at the keys, fitting another one to the lock on my door. This one turned slowly, grating against wood and metal until the door slowly eased forward.

I crouched behind the door.

A tall man with wolf pelts across his shoulders stepped into the room, his face hidden within a deep hood. Taking a deep breath, I leaped.

He spun toward me and caught my hand, plucking the knife from it. I appreciate your desire to protect yourself, Dejah Raad. But I’d much rather you use it against the enemy.

Lifting his other hand, he pushed his hood back, exposing light-brown hair and intense blue eyes. And I am not your enemy.

Calder Magnus? Heat leaped in my stomach as I met his gaze.

Shaking his hair back off his face, Calder released my wrist and handed me back my knife, hilt first. At the first brush of our fingers, the heat in my stomach surged through my body. Our gazes locked, held. I saw intensity in his gaze and felt an answering heat rise up my neck slowly.

He was a man on a mission. Turning, he glanced about the cell before turning back to me. His focus was clear in his shoulders and how he held himself. Alert. Ready to give battle.

Follow me, quickly. Diavol is busy whipping the townsfolk into a witch-burning frenzy. If we don’t leave now, they will catch us for sure. He waited only for me to sheathe my knife before turning and leading the way out of the cell and up a twisting flight of stairs.

We climbed two stories before we came to a window opening that was wider than an arrow slit. Propped in the corner of the window was a grappling hook. Calder turned to me. Climb on my back. Put your arms around my neck and wrap your legs around my waist. We’ll moved faster that way. Turning and crouching down to give me greater ease, he waited.

I stepped forward, heat climbing up my neck at the thought of being pressed so firmly against him, with only layers of wool and leather between us. But I could hear the chanting now, and it drove all other thoughts from my brain.

Quickly, I did as he had asked, wrapping my legs around his waist, using my feet to secure myself. Grabbing my thighs, he adjusted my position before turning and backing out the window. Hold on tightly. His voice was a low whisper as he descended the rope. I closed my eyes and tightened my grasp. Pressing my face into the wolf fur, I breathed in his scent.

He was here. I breathed in deeply, tightening my arms about his neck. If he had left when he was supposed to, would I still be in that cell? Would aid have come in time?

Calder had chosen a solitary life, roaming the forests with a small band of men and protecting our borders with his life. He returned to the village only once a month now to report to his cousin Alain, our chieftain. He stayed a few days, usually, before leaving again. And it had been during these visits that I had often found him sitting outside my home. Just as I had the night before the attack.

Calder had seemed unwilling to talk to most of the villagers on the occasions he returned to the timber fortress of Tala. But he had spoken to me.

I cherished those conversations. I longed for the companionship that had disappeared from my life with the deaths of my mother and younger brother. Our conversations had become the basis for our unlikely alliance. Two outcasts, perhaps, recognizing each other.

Still, though Calder had singled me out, I had a long memory, and I remembered what had driven him into the forest all those years ago.

And Deidre, the woman he had mourned.

I had cooked dinner for him that night, and we had talked into the dark hours. The next morning, I had stood at my cottage door, watching him as the gates opened. I had seen him tense, his hands flying to draw his sword and axe as the Piatran warriors came storming into Tala.

I felt the slight impact as his feet struck the rocky ground now. Loosening my grip, I slipped from his back. I stepped backward and watched as he whipped the rope up hard and the grappling hook came free, tumbling down beside us.

We shall have to move quickly. He turned to look at me. You are not hurt badly?

The darkness that covered the land hid his face from me, but I still felt the ferocity of his gaze. I shook my head. I have some minor bruises and rope burns around my wrists. Beyond that, I am whole.

He nodded, making quick work of coiling the rope. Let’s go. We need as much distance as possible between us and them before your disappearance is discovered. The full moon will be both help and hindrance to us tonight. He held out a hand toward me. I grasped it, and we took off into the deep cover of the trees.

Dawn’s approach began slowly, the faintest lightening of the horizon. My legs ached and my eyes burned. So far, we had only heard men. That one blessing, at least, we had been given. They had not brought the dogs.

I wanted nothing more than to sit down and rest, but the thought of our pursuers was never far away. We could not stop to rest. We dared not stop.

Ahead of me, Calder pressed on. His fur-covered shoulders became more visible with the gradual lightening of the sky. We were following an old deer trail, faint and disused, when he turned his head and met my gaze. Stepping closer, I could see the color of his eyes; day was rapidly approaching.

We need to find somewhere to hide, he whispered. We need to rest.

Ahead of us, the ground sloped downward. We were leaving the higher foothills now and descending into an old forest. The forest I was familiar with. The forest that Kyllikki favored.

At the thought of the demigod, I raised a hand and clutched my amber amulet. We were back in his territory.

Following the deer trail, we moved forward until we came to a narrow box canyon that ventured back, ending in a boulder fall. Calder stepped forward, his gaze examining the walls. They rose gently, their tops covered with old forest growth. Moss and lichen clung to them, ferns growing from cracks. In normal circumstances, I would have felt very much at home here.

Stepping forward, I lifted a hand and placed it on the rock wall, feeling the coolness of the stone beneath my palm. Calder was looking carefully around the back of the valley, where the boulder fall cut it off. I turned my head and saw a fallen tree near the boulder fall.

The boulders had knocked it over. Its trunk, which lay along the valley floor, was raised by the root mass at one end. Through the gap, I saw what I was looking for. A faint trail led underneath the tree, back into the wall of the canyon.

Calder. I spoke his name on a whispered breath, but he heard me and turned around to see what I had found. I gestured toward the spot, and he swiftly joined me, crouching down to examine it. Dim light filtered in through the canopy now, giving us enough light to see a large hollow. It was dry, with crumbling leaf litter, and hidden enough for our purposes. Calder nodded, a smile creasing his cheeks as he gestured for me to enter first.

His smile did funny things to me. The proud approval in his glance had warmed me, but the smile unstitched me. I could feel my stomach trembling as I crawled on my knees into the den.

Calder followed behind me. Using a branch, he rubbed out the signs of our passage before turning and gazing around the small space. It wasn’t a cavern, really—more an undercut of the cliff wall that the tree had obligingly fallen against.

Unbuckling his belt, he laid his sword between us and the opening. Pulling out bread and cheese, he cut thick slices of each and handed them to me silently. I took them without comment, my stomach talking loudly as I did so.

Did they not feed you? He spoke in a low whisper as he pulled his waterskin from the belt.

I shook my head, too busy chewing bread and cheese to speak. In the silence that surrounded us, I devoured the sustenance he provided and drank the water greedily.

His eyes watched me constantly. I felt the heat in them, the awareness that tickled up the back of my neck, sending goosebumps over my scalp.

I had come to cherish his visits in the village, eagerly anticipating them as I felt increasingly isolated from the other villagers. Never had I imagined us in this situation, though.

We should rest.

I looked up to see him wiping the crumbs of his own food off his hands. Nodding, I turned my body and lay down on the ground, pulling my cloak tightly around me.

I closed my eyes and felt Calder stretch his body out along mine. My breath caught in my chest as his hand brushed my arm. He settled beside me, his chest against my back. Squeezing my eyes shut, I felt his hand brushing hair off my shoulder and gently tracing the skin of my neck. We had pushed hard and long, though, and I was exhausted. Now, here in this dim hiding place with the heat of his body helping to warm mine, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep.

I woke suddenly. I felt the pressure of tears as they built behind my eyes. A sense of panic swelled in my chest.

Then Calder shifted slightly behind me, his arm slipping around my waist, pulling me back against his chest, and I relaxed. We were safe for the time being.

He murmured something beneath his breath, burying his face in the hair at the back of my neck. His broad hand spread across my stomach, pressing me into his embrace.

In the stillness, my heart beat like a drum, my tears forgotten. I had been like a starving woman at a feast table when he had begun to visit me in the village. Over the course of a year, I had lost my mother and brother and then watched as the village slowly turned on me. Fear had run rampant with the witch hunts ripping through the mountain villages. Only Calder and Chief Alain had remained on my side.

And for months during the long evenings Calder had spent in my home, I had longed for this. For him. I closed my eyes as tremors ran across my skin. I didn’t want him to stop. For once, I wanted to hold onto this dream.

His breath stirred, rushing across the join of my neck and shoulder. His lips pressed against my skin, the hair of his beard and moustache making me tremble.

His touch was firm and gentle. His hand moved slowly, caressing as it wandered across my midriff, slipping higher. His light touch caused my breath to catch in my throat as his fingers lingered along my neck.

I rolled onto my back and met his half-opened, slumberous gaze. His head dipped and then paused for a second, his gaze lifting once more to mine.

As his lips took possession of mine, I knew without a doubt that he was fully awake. This was no dream.

Shifting suddenly, he leaned over me, his eyes blazing down into mine. I held his gaze, my breath frozen in my chest. We didn’t speak, and the silence enveloped us in its embrace.

I lost myself in the fervor of his gaze. Almost as if time had frozen, I drowned in his eyes. With a slight groan, he closed the distance between us, taking my lips in a passionate kiss.

Outside, a branch cracked. We both froze. Another branch snapped, and there came the sound of men tramping through dry leaves. Calder lifted a finger to his lips, meeting my gaze.

Raising my hand to the amulet that hung about my throat, I wrapped my hand around it and closed my eyes. The sun shining upon Calder’s wolf pelts had given me an idea.

Kyllikki, help me! We are under attack. Hide us. Let them see only what I want them